


The Softest of Sounds

by icedteainthebag



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-03-28
Updated: 2009-03-28
Packaged: 2017-10-21 19:00:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/228554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icedteainthebag/pseuds/icedteainthebag





	The Softest of Sounds

this one's for [](http://dashakay.livejournal.com/profile)[**dashakay**](http://dashakay.livejournal.com/). i do it all for you, d.  
because you buy me mango martinis.

x x x x

She makes this sound when she's kissing, a whimper in the back of her throat that starts out softly, like the mewing of a kitten. The first time he hears it, he thinks it's all in his head, derived from one of the fantasies he's had about this very moment on his couch in his quarters, the moment when she threw caution into the solar wind and crawled into his lap and planted her mouth onto his.

At first, it's the softest of sounds as her mouth opens and her chest presses against his, her hair tickling his cheeks, her glasses sliding down on her nose. He feels her tongue trace his upper lip. He watches her as she does this--she's got her eyes squeezed shut and he wonders what she's thinking. Does she want to forget who she is, who he is, who they are?

He lets her tongue in and it slides against his, and her whimper is a little louder this time, and he realizes it's real, that all of this is real. Her knees press into his hips and she presses down onto his lap against his hardness, her skirt shifting up her legs, and this is where he wants to put his hands. Oh, how he's dreamed of _this_ moment. He runs light fingers up her bare thighs, smooth as glass, warm as a summer day. He feels her shiver, so he does it again, leaving a trail of goosebumps.

Her tongue works with his, pushing and retreating, and he breathes her in. She smells like water, like green grass, like the breeze off the lake, back when he knew nature, when it wasn't just a memory. She smells like that. It reminds him of home.

He slides his hands to her back, and then lightly cups her ass, eliciting another, more insistent whimper. Her fingernails dig into the back of his neck and her mouth works harder. It feels like she's desperate, and he starts to lose himself in it, her desperation rubbing off on him as easily as their bodies are rubbing together. He kisses her harder, slides one hand up to the back of her hair and grabs it, gives it a gentle pull. Their lips part and he kisses her neck, soft kisses at first, followed by flicks of his tongue.

"Bill," she breathes, and it sends his head spinning, just one word, one word in that breathy tone of hers. He can't help it--he slides his tongue up the side of her neck and grabs an earlobe between his teeth. Another whimper, this one accompanied by a downward thrust of her hips. His fingers wind around soft strands of red, his other hand still firmly gripping her ass.

He sucks on her earlobe and she giggles then, instead of whimpering, and squirms in his lap. He can feel her heat now through his pants, and he breathes out slowly, trying to control himself. He licks her skin again, then lightly presses his teeth into her neck.

"Oh, my Gods." She stops giggling and takes a sharp breath in. Tiny pants escape her lips. "Oh, Gods, yes. That."

"This?" He nibbles on her neck again and she whimpers, a full-fledged whimper now, her fingers scratching the back of his head. His teeth travel to her collarbone and she starts rubbing herself rhythmically into his lap, pushing down, letting up, pushing down, like she's frakking him with all their clothes still on.

"Yes," she breathes. He shifts his eyes upward and she's biting her lower lip, her eyebrows raised. His cock is tingling and he nearly moans every time she moves.

He slides his hand from her ass to the hemline on her thigh, then slips his fingers underneath. They blaze a trail to her hip--her panties are silky and they hug the firm curve of her ass. He works his fingers under them and palms the bare skin he finds there, and she swoops down to kiss him harder, her tongue sliding into his mouth, and he pushes his tongue back, and suddenly they're battling for control, this President and her Admiral--kissing or arguing up in the CIC, it's always about control. His tongue forces her to retreat back into her mouth, and he explores the ridges of her teeth, feels her hard breath on his cheek, all while his fingers are tickling the crack of her ass under her panties, and she's wiggling and whimpering, grinding down against him, hard, nonstop.

He does this until he can't take it any more--he's a patient man, but only to a point. He grabs her by the waist and turns her onto her back. Her head lands on the pillow on the side of his couch and she lets out a small "Ooof" sound as her back hits the cushion. Her hair messy, her skirt nearly around her hips, and one gorgeous leg hanging off the couch.

He's tired of wasting time. He slides down off the couch onto his knees and slides his hands up her legs, rough against smooth, and grabs her panties to drag them down. He watches her face--her red, just-kissed lips are parted and she's staring at him like she can't believe what he just did. He keeps their gaze and runs his fingers up her inner thighs, leans over her hips and kisses every spot his fingers pass.

She relaxes and tilts her head back, her eyes closing again as she exhales. He feels her body startle when his lips reach the juncture of her thigh and her heat. He pushes her skirt higher with one hand while the other traces her pussy, only outside at first. She whimpers and her fingers snarl into the back of his hair. She's wet--amazingly, astoundingly wet--and he catches her soft scent. It's intoxicating. He slides his fingers deeper into her folds, up and down, and her breath catches when they glide over her clit, then down to her opening. He teases her, circling there, slipping two slightly in, then out around her clit again.

"Bill?" This sounds like a question, like she's going to either place a request or tell him to stop, or give her a lecture on the ethics of the two of them, being who they are, doing what they are. He hopes it's the first, dreads that it's the latter.

"Laura?" He watches her face. She's still got her eyes closed and her hips are moving slightly at the soft ministrations of his fingers.

"I just wanted to say...that...no matter what happens right now...I still consider our professional relationship paramount and it's important for us to maintain a consistent...Oh Gods, hold on," she says as he teases her clit again. He smiles and watches her nose wrinkle, her lips part with a gasp. "A consistent level of authority, and respect for each...hmmmmmmm...each other, both...bothhereandoutthere, oh please, just keep going, for the sake of the Gods."

"Whatever you say, Madam President," he says, slipping two fingers into her easily. She moans and lifts her hips, meeting his hand as he buries his fingers deep inside of her.

"This...is important," she breathes, her hips starting to work with his hand. Her slickness wets his palm. His fingers slide out, slip in again. "Oh Gods, it's important, Admiral, do you understand?"

He dips his head to lick her clit, one strong flick of the tip of his tongue. The brief taste of her makes him crave more. She jumps and gasps and lets out what he considers a very contented moan. "I understand," he says.

"Good," she says, with an air of authority about it.

"Do I have permission to continue?" he says, his voice low. He laps at her again.

"By all means," she answers.

He buries his face against her then, feeling her wetness on his cheeks as he laps at her harder and faster. He tries to ignore the throbbing of his cock, how badly he wants her, because this is another moment he's dreamed of, having her squirming and whimpering under his tongue. She responds to him with a twist of her hips, her loud whimpers and tugs of his hair. She squeezes his fingers tightly as they slide into her, over and over. Just like his dreams.

He sucks her clit and the foot not planted on the floor lands firmly on his back with a thump. She giggles and her bare heel digs into his jacket, then her giggle ends in a low moan as he licks her, more intent this time, her clit swollen to the touch of his tongue.

"Yes," she says, and she repeats it between breaths. Her body starts to shake ever so slightly, which he takes as a good sign. He licks her faster and her whimpers get more frantic--he'll never get that sound out of his head, those whimpers. And then she tenses up and her heel kicks against him one more time, a solid thwack, and she cries out and she's coming. He watches her, transfixed by her entire body, memorizing every twitch he feels, every sound she makes.

At the end of her moans and breaths, he hears her call his name, and it sounds different this time.

He pulls away and he moves over her. She puts her hands on the sides of his face and kisses him, many times in a row, quick kisses with little hums. It makes him chuckle as he tries to kiss her back, finally catching her lower lip with his teeth and drawing their mouths together again.

He's firmly planted between her hips with his pants still on. She breaks the kiss and looks at him incredulously. Her glasses are off-center and hanging on the tip of her nose. It makes him chuckle again. "You're still clothed? Why are you still clothed?" she says, sliding her hands down his sides, then up to the buttons of his uniform. "Take this off. I mean it, Bill. This is not acceptable, not in the least."

"That my clothes are still on?" he asks, kissing her again. "Yours are too."

"We can work around mine," she says between kisses, plucking the buttons out of their eyeholes. "And yours too, it just takes a little bit of manipulation."

"Manipulation, hmmmm," he murmurs, kissing her neck and pulling away. She sits up as he sheds his jacket, her hands reaching for the button of his pants. She unbuttons them and unzips them and they pool around his feet. She runs her hand over the front of his boxers, the hardness of his cock extremely evident. She circles it with her hand and he groans. She looks up at him and giggles from her cushion, squeezing and pulling at him, batting her eyelashes.

"Just a little more," she says, pushing down his boxers. "There. That's all we need."

He can feel her breath on his cock and he shudders. "Is it? Are you sure?" That's all he can conjure at this point.

Her hot mouth slides over his cock smoothly and he groans and resists the urge to close his eyes. He wants to watch her, and she's looking up at him intently, and she still has those glasses on, and that's the part that's really driving him crazy. She sucks him, gliding him in and out, and there's a hint of accomplishment in her eyes.

She hums as her hands clutch his ass, her tongue working circles and doing things he hasn't felt in years. Many, many years. "Frak," he groans.

She lets him slip out of her mouth. "Frak, is that all you can say, Bill Adama? Frak?"

She slides him back in, sucking harder, watching him.

"Uhhh...frak," he repeats, gritting his teeth and trying to keep his hips still. He's tingling down to his toes, electric currents running up and down his legs. "Laura...Laura, good...Laura...yeah, oh yeah."

She smiles with him still in her mouth, then twirls her tongue around him, over and over. She gives him a firm suck and pulls away. "Let's just stick with 'frak,'" she says with a giggle. The cold air hits his cock and he shivers, and she's still giggling, and it makes him smile as he looks down at her, inches away from his cock, and she's covering her mouth and completely losing it.

"I'm sorry," she says, clearing her throat and then giggling again. "Oh, I'm so sorry, Bill."

"Is this funny to you?" he teases, brushing hair out of her face. She smiles and wipes her eyes with the back of her hand. It's a rarity to see her this happy, and he smiles, cupping her cheek.

"Not funny at all," she says with another laugh. "Certainly not, Admiral Adama." She kisses his palm.

"You know," he says, "I think I have the perfect cure for your giggle fit."

Her smile is a knowing one. "Oh, really, Bill. Care to enlighten me on your miracle cure?"

She lies back on the arm of the couch, spreading her legs and raising her eyebrows. He feels warm, an excitement tingling through his body, as he lies down on top of her gently, their hips meeting, hard against soft. He groans as his cock slips over her. She answers with a sigh, her legs sliding over the back of his bare thighs.

"This might do it," he says, kissing the tip of her nose. He slides into her, a little at first, and then he stops, her heat surrounding him, her fingernails grazing over the undershirt on his back. Their eyes meet and she smiles.

"I think it has," she whispers, kissing him. He slips in, all the way, and she whimpers against his mouth. And then the dance begins, as slowly as it started two years ago--he gives and takes, she takes and gives to him, first her mind, and now her body. Their eyes are open as they kiss and join together, slow strokes, getting used to the fit, the unique rhythm they find inside each other.

Her legs tighten around him, hooking around his waist. She breaks off their kiss and he nuzzles her neck with his nose, thrusting a little harder into her--she's soft inside, warm, enveloping him, comforting him, letting him go, drawing him back.

"Take me," she whispers against his ear, kissing it and balling the back of his shirt in her fists. His body tingles at the sound of her voice, at those two words that mean so much, especially coming from Laura Roslin. He speeds up slightly, slides his arms up under her back and feels her body pressed against him, their clothes catching between them.

"Take me," he says, his lips pressed against her neck. He feels her pulse.

She whimpers and her hips rise, and they meet gently at first, then becoming more hectic, more insistent. Her back arches and she moans when he grinds into her, then fraks her harder, long, complete strokes, wanting to feel every inch of her inside.

"That's it," she says, her voice low, her breath teasing his ear. "That's it."

He feels it swirling inside of him, and looks her in the eyes, wanting to see her face when he comes inside of her. Their mouths meet, but it's slow, this kiss as he's starting to come, a slow and luxurious build, and they're taking each other in every way imaginable, one sweet second at a time.

It finally hits him and he groans as she pulls him over the edge--he groans indecipherable phrases that involve her name and sounds that are words he's not yet ready to speak. Her body tenses under him, squeezes around him, encompasses him completely.

Their breathing slows and he presses his face against her chest, the silk of her blouse cool against his flushed cheeks. She strokes his hair, her legs sliding down over his thighs.

"I think we can incorporate this into our working relationship, Bill," she says, kissing the top of his head. He chuckles and nudges his nose against her breast.

"As long as we can maintain a consistent level of authority and respect for each other, both here and out there," he says.

She giggles again, and he holds her close until she stops to catch her breath.


End file.
